


All Does Not End Well

by AeonDelirium



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Blood, Blood Drinking, Everything Hurts, M/M, Ramsay is his own warning, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:55:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3303185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeonDelirium/pseuds/AeonDelirium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay Bolton acquires a fine new chair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Does Not End Well

A cage. _It's just another cage._ A cage with teeth, this time, with hands and arms, with blades that caught on fabric and skin, that bit and tore, a cage that moved and breathed and was made only of sharp edges. Reek whimpered miserably as his fingers scrabbled for purchase but found only more pain.  
 _It's over_ , he thought, cold panic rising in his chest, old panic, finally justified, _it's done. It's pointless, all of it. Too late. He's won. They let him –_ A thin cry broke from his lips when Ramsay pushed him down and pulled him apart, and filled him, another wound. Iron behind him and hot flesh above, there was nothing he could do but weep.  
Ramsay too was bleeding, more nicks and cuts appearing all over his hands and thighs until all their fluids mingled, sweat dripping from his ugly face as he worked himself into a frenzy of lust; power lust, pain lust, blood lust. Reek moaned, the sound amplified, bouncing back from a ceiling that seemed miles away, before it was lost in the vastness around them. There was no reply.  
Ramsay kissed him, sucked on his lips as the blades bit into his back, his brittle bones, burning his skin with how cold they were, and it was hard to believe they had been touched by dragonflame. _A thousand thousand deaths,_ Reek thought, _a thousand thousand swords. And one through the heart was all I asked for._  
There was a terrible sound then, sharp and wet, slicing, and pain blossomed in his arm and a cry in his throat. Ramsay stilled inside him, above him, his eyes wide, pupils dilating, and Reek could feel him shiver. He barely resisted when he felt his mouth against the wound, tongue probing where the flesh had parted, teeth pulling on the ragged edge of skin. And then he _drank._  
Reek howled and he squirmed and he begged, his life streaming out of him and into Ramsay's greedy mouth, but it was not the pain nor the threat of death that frightened him. It was the man's expression. A look of pure, unfiltered bliss as he pressed his face against Reek's withered arm, and his throat worked, glistening with sweat and blood, and his gulps shuddered through Reek's veins until his tongue seemed to be lapping at his very heart. Just, just when he thought that this time was for good, Ramsay stopped, blood-red mouth breaking from his skin to sputter and gasp. Reek whimpered softly when he felt the warmth inside him, flooding an emptiness reserved for this. He retched, but Ramsay did not seem to care. He withdrew as soon as he had finished, leaving Reek to cross his legs and curl up in a pool of what they had done. Ramsay stood and turned, lacing himself back up without hurry. There was silence.  
“Well then,” he said finally, looking around the room, but there was no eye willing to meet his own.  
Reek lay limply, spent, feeling the weight of his bones and the wetness of his flesh where it had been opened and invaded, warm blood seeping from countless wounds, warm come from between his legs, finding cracks and crannies in the iron, another victims' prize added to the count.  
Ramsay reached the foot of the stairs and gave the dead thing there a lazy kick. There was a sharp intake of breath somewhere across the hall, but the culprit was wise enough to avert his eyes when Ramsay looked up. Reek could see the muscles tensing in his master's back, briefly.  
“Get her head on a spike with the rest of them,” Ramsay said. A moment passed, and there was a threat in the throne room that was mutual, but in the end the Kingsguard hurried forward to oblige before Ramsay had even turned back around.  
“Look at her, Reek,” he whispered into his ear as he lifted him up and sat him on his lap, and with a sick squelching noise of various fluids made himself comfortable on his chair. Reek had seen plenty of dead girls, more than he could count. He did not flinch when his gaze found her as they carried her from the hall, pale and beautiful even in death, but there was a deep ache inside his heart, and he knew he was watching an era die.  
“The dragon bitch will make a nice decoration for our walls, won't she, Reek?” Ramsay's large hand cupped the emptiness between his legs, and the breath caught in Reek's throat as he became aware of them, all of them, watching. The heart pounded in his wasted chest. His hands opened and closed. _Remember who you are._  
“Yes, m'lord,” he managed finally, and yelped before he could help it when Ramsay's nails dug into the sensitive skin.  
“Not _m'lord,_ Reek, silly pet,” he said against his throat, lips curling into a lenient smile. Reek swallowed.  
 _“Your Grace.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This is, of course, _not_ how I want the story to end. But it was an entertaining fantasy regardless.


End file.
